A transport of delight

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I did not have the best night's sleep that was possible, due to a suspected cold that has so far created a permanently running nose, not to mention a (wedding?) party nearby that was rocking until the wee small hours. I was alarmed at the toll in bog roll that this was extracting but I have to have faith that, somewhere in this dry and dusty land, there is some aloe-impregnated 4-ply with my name on it.

Though there are direct buses to Bikaner from Nawalgarh, Rajesh had advised me to go via Sikkar instead, a town about 40 minutes away on the bus. I was scammed by being charged 3 times the correct price, but as that still only came to Rs 42 there was no threat of bankruptcy. The journey gave me a completely false sense of what bus travel could be like, as the bus was less than half full, and the only discomfort was of my own making in that I sat at the back, which made me susceptible to the occasional bit of unpowered flight when we went over a decent-sized bump. The neighbouring passengers were only too pleased to assist me with getting off at the right stop, so I was delivered to Sikkar bus station in one piece and with nary a hair out of place.

Locating the booth from which to purchase my ticket to Bikaner proved more of a bind. I received an excess of different opinions as to where to buy the ticket from (nowhere - the guy who, by general consensus, should have been doing this job was too busy fiddling around with the wiring in his booth), whether I could buy the ticket on the bus itself or not (yes you can - and I did), and which stand the bus was going from (number 6). The fun really started when the bus turned up shortly after 11AM. There are no reservations possible, so it is a complete free-for-all. Without waiting for people to disembark, the Sikkar passengers attempted to pile on, leading to a heaving bottleneck in the doorway. I stood back, British reserve preventing me from participating, but when I saw a gap I went for it.

On the bus itself, it became apparent that many passengers hadn't been properly disembarking at all - they were merely going to buy food/drink or go the loo, so there were place markers all over the bus, whose intention was to save the seats for their original occupants. A chap indicated that I should sit in one such marked seat, which I did with some misgivings. When the owner returned, I made a feeble show of getting up to give it back to him but, out of the kindness of his heart (maybe), he told me to sit back down. So I managed to bag a plum window seat. Unfortunately, like the berths on the train, the seats were not designed for someone with my leg length. Bringing my knees as close together as possible still meant I was occupying half of the neighbouring seat. With my rucksack on my lap too, this made for a most uncomfortable sitting position (both for me and my neighbour), and the next 4 hours were not ones I fancy repeating in the next, oh, millenium or so. After 4 hours, the bus emptied out a little, so I was able to put my rucksack on the floor for the remaining hour of the journey.

The journey itself was fairly dull, leg pains apart. A landscape of unrelenting sand and scrub, occasional stops in villages to pick up/disgorge passengers, sly peeks and glances by all the people sitting around me. I noticed 2 other Europeans at the front of the bus, who had commandeered 3 seats with 1 exclusively for their luggage, which seemed either a great idea or a very selfish one, given it was standing room only. As we neared Bikaner, more buildings sprung up near the road, and camel-powered vehicles were much in evidence.

At Bikaner bus station, I whipped out my map and compass and headed unerringly for the Meghsar Castle hotel. I was trailed for most of the way by a young boy, who started his requests for "One pen" then went for broke with "100 rupees". The hotel has a similar vibe to the place I was in in Nawalgarh - family-run, an owner who speaks great English and isn't trying to flog anything, with decent large rooms and home cooking. I even have a Western loo complete with a seat. I might also be the only guest here. I collapsed on my bed and was immediately in siesta-land.

After dinner (the Deluxe Thali, which included my first experience of eating curd), I went in search of an Internet cafe. The one I ended up in was divided up into booths, with little doors to keep out prying eyes. Going by the contents of the Google history, not to mention the Recent Documents history, this is so that people can conduct porn searches in private. Indeed, the previous user of my computer clearly had something of an Angelina Jolie fetish. By the time this blog was only 2 days behind, it was already 10:30PM and I returned to the hotel to find the gate had been locked. The lifestyle here does appear to be early to bed, early to rise.

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Photos

The bus to Bikaner
Grumpy Englishman not pictured.